


I See Him Sometimes

by carlyrb6



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Conversations, Funerals, Gen, Harry has been alone for a while, John speaks for us all, Master of Death, MoD!Harry, but we love him anyways, death stuff, he's a little crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 12:05:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7891507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carlyrb6/pseuds/carlyrb6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John keeps seeing a man at funerals. No one else can. A short conversation MasterOfDeath!Harry and John have one day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I See Him Sometimes

I see him sometimes, in the distance, when someone dies. He always looks so sad- like he knew them so well it now causes physical pain to say a so permanent goodbye- like he knows he will never see them again, even after he has past. But, at the same time, there is an ever present guilt, as if he alone could have saved them- as well as a shameful jealousy to him, in a way no one should be jealous of the dead.

Over the years I have learned that not many see this strange man, and to those who do, he is but a shadow: the image left over from trying to remember a faraway dream. Every time I tried to learn more about him, it became apparent that he has not shown himself to anyone as much as I. I wished that made me special, but at the same time I wondered to myself if it was a good sign to be followed by death's shadow.

It was at my friends Benadict's funeral that I talked to him. Benadict had been laid down into the six foot dirt mouth that would swallow him forever. As I let go of the rich brown crumbles of earth and watched them fall onto the sleek black casket that would be my old friend's eternal home, I gazed up onto the hillside above. It was there he appeared. I had already said my goodbyes; spoke with the only true mourners, not the distant cousins that appeared for the hope that their respects would somehow get them into the will. So I sneaked away. After I made it up the long cobbled path, I saw him up close for the first time.

He was pale, much more than I thought he would be. He gazed out over the sea of black dots in the mist bellow with an expression so full of peace and sorrow that I cannot find the words to properly describe it. One hand was gently rested on the back of the dying tree beside him. His black hair stayed unmoving in the breeze. He is an unmovable force: death itself.

"They call to me," he whispers so softly I can barely hear him.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I couldn't quiet hear you." He turned toward me. His eyes were so soft and broken.

"I said they call to me." He turned back to gaze out over the land. "That IS what you wanted to know, correct? Why I always come." I do not dare breathe.

"I thought death called you" was all I could say. He smiled sadly.

"No. But it is a good guess. Everyone thinks that first. But they call me- the dead. Not death. They call out to me to come to them, to set them free from their chains to life. You can't move on with them." A silence falls over the hill. Bellow, their noise is covered by the fog that is settling over everything. The grave is almost filled in. I no longer look at him, but instead over the valley.

"You always look as if you knew them."

"At the end, I always do. After death we are all the same. We all wish to go on. We all wish to leave the pain of our past life. You will be the same when you go." I let the silence fall again. Though it was not said, I felt as if only enough time remained for one question.

"Why can I see you when no one else does?" It was his time to be quiet.

"I am neither dead nor alive," he said. "I am in a forever state of in-between. I do not feel the pleasures of this world, not the next, but neither do I the pain. Only the loneliness. I feel that you were sent as a small comfort to remind me what I am. The next time we meet, it will be when you call me, like all of the others." He spoke strait at me with the great voice of the beyond that is unfathomable to those who do not experience it. It was as if being spoken to by God.

And then, he began to walk away. I watched him leave in silence, trying to find the right words to describe how I felt. But I knew he already knew. So instead I settled for on last question, even though I know what the answer would be.

"Please!" I call out to him. My voice echoes out across the hills and dead trees. "What are you?" He stops, turning back just enough for me to see him cast that same sad smile as before.

"The next time you see me, you will know." And then he disappeared. I never say him again, and I never will, just as he promised, until it is my turn to call him- just as everyone does.


End file.
